The Werewolf Assistant

Mia rode through the city every day, rain or shine, weaving her motor bike between buses and taxis like a seasoned food-delivery worker. It wasn't glamorous, carrying thermal bags full of takeout to people who barely looked up long enough to grab the food, but it paid the bills, and that mattered more than glamour ever could. Her mother was sick. Her little brother needed new shoes. So Mia rode, fast and quiet, day after day, never really stopping to complain. One of her regular stops was different from the rest. It was a tall glass building near the center of the city, the kind of place with a doorman in a black suit who never smiled. The man who lived on the top floor was named Adrian Vale, and everyone in the city seemed to know that name. He was rich. He owned banks, buildings, entire city blocks that most people would never even walk past in their lifetime. People said he was cold. Some said he never left his penthouse at all. At first, Mia never actually saw him. A staff member always opened the door instead, a tall man named Larry, or sometimes a pretty young woman holding a clipboard. They took the food bags without much conversation. Mia said hello anyway, out of habit, then left. Simple. Fast. Nothing more happened between them, week after week, for a long time. Then, without warning, things changed. She rang the brass bell one afternoon and waited, holding a warm bag from an upscale bistro, expecting the usual routine. But the door opened, and it was not the staff this time. It was Adrian Vale himself, standing there in a dark suit even though it was barely past noon. Mia blinked, caught off guard by how close he actually stood. "Food delivery," she said, holding out the bag toward him. He took it slowly, almost too slowly, like he was buying himself a few extra seconds. "Thank you," he said. His voice was flat, controlled, the voice of someone used to giving orders. But his eyes looked sharper than his tone, as if he were measuring her for something he hadn't decided to name yet. "No problem," Mia said, already turning to leave. "Wait," he said. She stopped and turned back. His gaze dropped to the receipt taped to the bag, even though his own name was printed clearly across it. "Is this the right order?" Mia raised an eyebrow. "Yes. It says your name right there." "Right," he said after a beat. "Of course it does." She laughed a little on her way out, thinking it was strange, but not strange enough to dwell on. Rich people were odd sometimes. The next week, the exact same thing happened again. He opened the door personally, and this time he had a new excuse ready. "I was expecting a call," he said. Mia nodded slowly, not believing a single word of it. A billionaire does not wait by his own front door for a phone call when lunch arrives. But she smiled anyway and handed him the fresh container like always. This kept happening, over and over, every single week without fail. Sometimes he claimed he was checking the foyer. Other times, checking an order that supposedly had missing items. Once, he simply said he was "passing through," which made no sense at all, since the foyer was the last place someone like him would ever pass through without a reason. Mia started noticing something else, too—something small but unmistakable. He always found a way to keep her talking a little longer than necessary. He asked about her day. He asked about the weather. He asked whether her motor bike handled well in the rain. Small, ordinary questions, the kind a busy billionaire should never have time or reason to care about. One afternoon, she finally decided to test him directly. "You know, Mr. Vale," she said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "you smile more when I'm here." His face went red. Just slightly. "I don't smile," he said, too quickly to be convincing. "You're smiling right now." He was not smiling, not exactly, but he was clearly fighting back a smile and losing badly. "I have work to do," he said, and shut the door. Not hard. Just enough to end things before they went any further. Mia laughed the whole way down in the elevator, replaying his face in her head. Red cheeks. Serious eyes that betrayed his embarrassment. A man who owned half the city, caught out like a schoolboy hiding a secret from his teacher. After that day, their strange little game truly began. Every visit, she teased him a bit more. Every visit, he denied it a bit less convincingly. "Nice tie today," she'd say, or "Did you wait by the door for lunch again?" He always said no. He always looked uncomfortable saying it, his ears going red before the rest of his face caught up. Mia started looking forward to this stop more than any other on her entire route. Late one afternoon, after handing off his dinner, rain started suddenly outside. The sky had turned dark while Mia was finishing the delivery sign-off on her phone inside the penthouse foyer. White floors stretched toward the floor-to-ceiling window. She walked over and watched the rain hit the glass in long, silver lines. "Oh, great." She checked her phone. The weather app had said nothing about rain when she left that morning. Mia stared at the screen for another second, hoping somehow the clouds would disappear. They didn't. "Problem?" She turned around. Adrian stood near the foyer table, holding a folder in one hand while looking at her as if he had already noticed the answer. "Rain." Adrian glanced outside. "Yes." Mia gave him a dry look. "Thank you for that important information." He almost smiled. "You have no umbrella?" Mia shook her head. "I wasn't expecting a storm." Adrian looked down at the street below. Cars were already moving slowly through the wet road while people hurried under improvised covers. The rain looked heavy enough to soak her completely before she could get back to her motor bike. "I'm fine," she insisted. "You'll get soaked." "I've survived rain before." Adrian looked down at her shoes. "You'll also ruin those." Mia looked down. She had spent almost an hour cleaning them that morning because they were one of her better pairs. She looked back at Adrian and realized he had noticed the exact same detail. For some reason, that made her feel strangely pleased. "Then I'll run," she said. Adrian frowned. "Don't." "Why?" "Because it's raining." "That's usually why people run." Adrian sighed. He walked toward the foyer table and opened the cabinet section. Inside were several umbrellas, all black and expensive-looking, arranged neatly in a row. Mia stared. "You have umbrellas?" "Of course." Adrian picked one up—a large black canopy with a simple silver handle—and held it out without saying anything. Mia looked at the umbrella, then back at him. "For me?" "Yes." She took it. "Thanks." Mia opened it slightly to inspect the mechanism. The handle was smooth, and the material felt much sturdier than the cheap options she normally bought. "This is nice." "It's an umbrella." "You keep saying that about everything." "Because it is." Mia smiled and moved toward the elevator, but Adrian's voice stopped her. "Wait." She turned around. Adrian walked toward her, his expression tightening slightly. "You can't walk to your motor bike like that." "Like what?" "Alone." Mia raised an eyebrow. "I'm not helpless." "I didn't say you were." "You sounded like you did." Adrian paused. "I meant that the rain is heavy." Mia looked at him for a quiet moment, then smiled softly. "You worry too much." "Maybe," he said, but his voice made it sound like he had already decided not to argue. Mia held the umbrella against her shoulder. "Well, thank you." She pressed the button and stepped into the elevator. As the doors began to slide shut, she called out, "Adrian?" "Yes?" He was still standing where she'd left him. She lifted the umbrella. "I'll bring this back tomorrow." "You can keep it." She blinked, catching the door with her hand to hold it open. "What?" "Keep it." He glanced away for the briefest moment. "I have others." "Are you sure?" "Yes." She smiled. "Okay. Thank you!" She let go, and the doors slid shut between them. Adrian returned to his office, but the room felt strangely quiet after Mia left. He tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept returning to her. He could have called a car for her or sent a driver downstairs, but giving her his umbrella felt different—it felt personal. A minute later, his phone buzzed with an in-app delivery update message. *I made it to my motor bike,* the message read. Adrian typed back: *Good. Be careful driving in this.* Mia replied almost instantly: *You too, Mr. Vale. Enjoy your dinner.* The next morning, Mia walked right back into the penthouse foyer to drop off his breakfast order, carrying the black umbrella. White floors gleamed under the lights. Adrian looked up immediately. "You brought it back," he said. "I said I would." "You didn't have to." "I know." She placed it on the foyer table, smiling wider as she handed over the warm breakfast bag. "But I figured this is personal to you." "Thank you." She smiled, heading back out. ---